


And frozen in the footsteps untaken (we stand side by side)

by ElixirBB



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Emotional Trauma, Espionage, Even Beyond, F/M, Familial problems, S1, S3, Sexual Content, Sherlolly will be a big part, Slow Burn, Violence, and family, but it's more self discovery, coarse language, hope you all enjoy!, kind of, multi-fic, potential ptsd, s2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElixirBB/pseuds/ElixirBB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper’s life can be described in three makeshifts family. The one she lost, the one she left, and the one she found. This story is everything in between, because even sometimes, Molly Hooper is known to be wrong. AU. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey. I've missed you guys. Hope you enjoy!

She didn’t think it would hurt this much. _It’s irrational_ , she tells herself, _for it to hurt. Because it’s fake. Everything is fake_.

 

She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. She wants to rip out her hair and _scream_. She can feel her heart stutter in her chest, she can feel her blood pounding in her veins and suddenly, all she can hear, all she can concentrate on, is the sound of her breathing as she grips the kitchen counter and leans forward, trying to ease the sudden and debilitating ache in her chest.

 

Tom stands in the entrance of the kitchen, hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched, eyes staring at her in concern. “Molls?” He asks, his familiar worried voice cutting through the air and suddenly, she remembers _all those years ago_ when it was the four of them and how they struggled to get through one case after the other; how they struggled to keep each other afloat in the hellish chaos that became their lives until they forgot who they were, where they came and the only thing that mattered, the only thing that kept them going was finishing the case, getting back alive and _each other_. _The four of them_. “Are you…are you okay?”

 

_Am I okay? Am I okay?_ She wants to laugh and she doesn’t realize she _is_ laughing until he takes a step back. She thinks she’s bordering on hysterical and maybe, this time, she truly has lost it, because she could have _changed_ this. She had the chance _to_ change this and she _didn’t_. So really, there is no one to blame but herself and the deepest pit of self-loathing that she has carved out with her name on it. “I’m fine.” She tells him, knowing full well what that particular four letter word means to her, to him, to _them_. “I’m just _fine_.”

 

_“We should have a word that warns us when one of us is going to fly into a fucking fit.” Tom brings up one day. It’s a hot day in Cairo and Molly is standing off to the side, binoculars to her eyes, covertly looking out the window, She’s wearing cargo pants and a quarter sleeve shirt and she can feel the sweat seeping through her clothes and finds she really hates the Middle East._

_“Why?” Mary garbles, pencil in her mouth as she looks at the blueprints sprawled in front of her, “because you can’t handle us?”_

_Molly chuckles and Tom glares until Mary laughs and Janine (beautiful and deadly Janine) shrugs her shoulders as she cleans out their weapons, laying them down in orderly fashion from smallest to largest, “_ Fine _.”_

_“What?”_

_She rolls her eyes and carefully puts down a rifle. “_ Fine _.” She repeats slowly. “It’s a common enough word. It’s a clipped word. It’s a loaded word. It’s_ our _word for when we’re_ not _okay. When we’re ready to explode and we don’t want anyone near us._ Fine _.”_

_Mary looks up and nods, “_ fine _, it is.”_

_Molly and Tom nod their agreement._

 

She’s brought back to the present when she hears the front door open and shut and she looks up, realizing that Tom has left. Grabbed his tweed jacket and walked out the flat, to give her the space he knows she requires.

 

She sighs and sinks down into the chair, hand reaching out and pressing play on the answering machine.

 

_You have one saved message._

_“Hey Molly, it’s uh…it’s John. Listen, I know that me and Mary, we haven’t been around much, what with us on our honeymoon but um…it’s just…well…it’s quite awkward really-”_

_“I think it’s cute!”_ She hears Mary shout in the background.

_John snorts into the phone, “yeah, okay…no. You remember Janine? Mary’s maid-of-honor? Well…did you know that she and Sherlock were dating? Or in a relationship? And have been for a while? Just…give me a call back, yeah? I’m…not that it’s a bad thing…it’s not, truly…it’s just…weird. Something is weird. Thought you might know. You were always close to him. Or well…I mean…you know. Bye.”_

They all knew this was coming. _She_ knew this was coming. She just never thought she would be left in the dark as to _when_ and _how_ and _where_.

* * *

( _And that,_ she thinks, _is what hurts the most…amongst other things.)_

 

_“You four will be training together. Better get used to each other, because unless you’re all fucking horrible, these people will become the only family you’ll know.”_

_The man who ushered them in leaves them, his words disappearing with his presence._

_“So,” the only guy out of their makeshift group says, “how’d you all get suckered into this?”_

_“Father.”_

_“Father.”_

_“Mother.”_

_“My uncle.” Molly answers, still feeling a gaping wound at the thought of her dead uncle. The only one to take her in after her mother and father died in freak accidents and who taught her how to survive in a world with skills that she never thought she would need. And then she got the phone call, late on night, his voice screaming into the receiver that she needed to_ run _and_ go away _,_ go to the train station and ask for an attendant named Mike Ranger _and that he was_ sorry, so sorry Molls…I never…we never wanted this life for you, Molly.

 

_And then the line went deadly silent, all that could be heard was Molly’s screams and shrieks for her uncle to answer her. (He never did and she followed his instructions, meeting with the attendant who’s real name isn’t Mike Ranger, not that she ever got the chance to find out what it really is and she was taken underground into an organization she didn’t even know really existed out of James Bond films that her parents and uncle scoffed at and refused to watch.)_

_(“Do you know who you really are? Who you’re family really is?” Not-Mike-Ranger asks her._

_“I’m a Hooper.” Molly answers him in a quiet voice._

_He gives her a look. It’s a loaded look and she thinks she sees something akin to pity. Then again, she’s sixteen and all that she’s seen since her parent’s deaths have been pity. “You’re a legacy. You’re parents and uncle were our best.”_

_Molly shakes her head. “My dad was a lorry driver and he died in an accident. My…my mum…she worked in an office and she died in an accident and my uncle…my uncle…”_

_He lays a hand on her shoulder. “You’re family were one of us.”_

_Frustrated, she wipes at the tears burning her eyes. “And who is_ us _? What is_ this _?”_

_“The government’s pit-bull.” He says. He takes a deep breath, “the jobs that MI-6 can’t do, can’t handle or fucking spectacularly fail to accomplish, that’s where we come in.”_

_Molly is silent and then she laughs, thinking back to all the times her family refused to watch James Bond films. “Their deaths…”_

_He gives her a sympathetic smile. “Those were our greatest cover-ups. Everything worked out perfectly, that sort of shit, it never goes as smoothly as it did with your family.”_

_She clenches her hands into fists at his insensitivity. “Except,” she says, her voice hard, “for the fact that my entire family is fucking dead.”_

_He stretches his arms and gestures to his surroundings, “and now you have a new one.”_

But I don’t want a new one. Just my old one _.)_

_“My name is Tom.” He introduces himself after a moment of silence._

_“Mary.” The blonde one supplies._

_“Janine.”_

_Molly looks at them, eyes wary, because they look like they belong here. They_ do _belong here, likely knowing who they were and what they were meant to be from the start and all Molly can think about is that she wants to go back to school and giggle with her only friend Meena and make plans to attend medical school. She doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t belong here._

_We never wanted this life for you._

_“Molly.” She sighs. “My name is Molly.”_

 

* * *

 

“So you didn’t have a clue?” John asks, his voice disbelieving.

 

Molly gives him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, John. Haven’t seen Sherlock since the wedding.”

 

That is a lie. She’s seen Sherlock plenty of times; she just made sure to never be noticed.

 

Mary is sitting next to John, her hand in his and a smile planted on her face. Tom is on the loveseat, legs sprawled out in front of him, eyeing Toby who purrs in the corner and Molly is standing, hands on her hip, innocent grin on her face and ignoring the unassuming glances that Tom and Mary throw her way.

 

She looks at John and wonders idly if Mary has told him yet. Has told him who she _is._ What she _does_. What she’s _meant_ to do. But then, he looks at her so lovingly that Molly _knows_ she hasn’t told him _a fucking thing_. Not that she can blame her. John, while he has a big heart, probably much larger than anyone deserves, will not take kindly to her (their) lies.

 

(Love, in their business, it never really works. She can still remember Janine’s shrieks and sobs when her secret boyfriend of three years was seemingly in the wrong place at the wrong time and gunned down. They all knew it wasn’t the wrong place at the wrong time, but rather someone who found out who was important to her and destroyed the only happiness she had.

 

After that, they all decided to not pursue any relationships, any emotional attachments.

 

And it worked. Until Molly met Sherlock and fell harder than she thought possible. It was easy for her though because Sherlock never saw her as anything other than his pathologist and she fit that role perfectly and she should have been grateful. She should have been relieved, except that she felt, all she feels, is _empty_. _I don’t count_.

 

She never did. Not really.)

 

“It’s a good thing though, isn’t it?” Tom speaks up. “That he…finally has…someone?”

The thing about Tom is that his looks allow him to be both devastatingly handsome or awkward and she almost giggles at the fact that the latter is all he’ll be known as to John and Sherlock and everyone in the second makeshift little family she found herself in.

 

“Yeah.” John says, scratching his head. “It’s fantastic. I’ve always said the man needed to get shagged-”

 

Molly chokes and Tom and Mary’s eyes snap towards her. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

 

She scurries into the kitchen and busies herself with the kettle, leaning forward to grip the counter to alleviate the sudden pain exploding in her chest, for the second time in just as many days.

 

“Molly?” Mary calls out softly, entering the kitchen and coming to stand next to her.

 

“Why didn’t you _tell me_?” Molly hisses at the blonde, brown eyes wide and she looks at her.

 

“We…we didn’t think you needed to know yet.”

 

“ _We_?” Molly asks, “ _we_?” She glances into the sitting area where Tom and John are sitting and talking amongst themselves and Tom looks up, giving her a smile that disappears when he sees her furious eyes and expression. She turns back to Mary. “That’s right, I _forgot_ I was always the odd one out.”

 

“You _left_ us.” Mary accuses, her voice rising slightly before lowering it, and trudging up long, not-so-forgotten memories that none of them have come to terms with. “ _You_ were the one who _left us_.”

 

“Because I almost _died_. _You_ weren’t where _you_ were _supposed to be_. _You_ didn’t have my six and I almost _died_.”

 

“I said I was _sorry_. I have been atoning for that ever since it happened. _I have never forgiven myself._ I made a promise to let you get hurt again. Don’t you remember? Molly, _tell me you remember_.”

 

_(“Molly,” she hears a distant voice call out in her haze of sleep and administered drugs. “Molly. God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Molly. I tried…I wasn’t…this will never happen again.” It’s only after the second sorry that Molly realizes it’s Mary who’s talking. “I will make sure you never get hurt like this again. At all. I’ll…I’ll kill anyone who hurts you. I swear it. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re…you’re my heart. You’re our heart in the family and I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in, you’re not…you’re not meant for this life, you’re meant for so much more and I’m sorry, Molly. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please.”_

_We never wanted this life for you, Molly.)_

 

Tears come unbidden to Molly’s eyes and as the kettle whistles, she looks at Mary. “Yeah, and you’ve a spectactular job thus far.”

 

Mary’s face falls and for a moment, Molly feels like the most wretched person in the world. _This,_ she thinks, _this is what that life made me into._ It made her, molded her into a person she hated and she’s spent last _decade_ trying to distant herself from that person, trying to become her own, only to get pulled back into it.

 

“Mary? Molly?” John says walking in. “Everything okay?”

 

“I’m not feeling well.” Molly tells John, placing a hand on her stomach, not lying as she feels it churning and the hollow feeling in her chest. “Sorry to be bitch but can we do tea another time?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Course. Might even ply Sherlock and Janine out, yeah?”

 

“Sounds great.” Tom speaks up, knowing that both Mary and Molly won’t.

 

Tom and Molly show them to the door and they wave, smiling brightly as they watch Mary and John leave. As soon as the front door shuts, she turns around and stares emptily at Tom, shrugging away from him and holding up her hand when he opens his mouth. “I don’t want to hear it.” She tells him as she storms past him, to her room, slamming the door shut behind her and sinking against the door, down to the floor, head in her hands, breathing deeply.

 

_We never wanted this life for you, Molly._

 

* * *

 

_“You saved me.” Janine says, hissing as Mary cleans out her wound._

_“You still got shot.” Molly points out, her hands and body trembling from excess adrenaline._

_“I could be_ dead _.” Janine corrects, giving Molly a half smile. “But I’m not. Because you saved me.”_

_Molly shrugs and accepts the blanket that Tom wraps around her shoulders. “We’re...we’re_ family _.”_

_Janine accepts the answer and turns her head back to Mary who tells her what she needs to do to keep her wound clean._

_Molly glances at Tom who’s staring at notes, absently twirling a pen with his fingers and she leans back against the couch, taking a deep breath._

_(She didn’t choose this life. She didn’t choose this makeshift little family, but it’s the only she has and maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay._

_Sometimes, Molly Hooper is known to be wrong.)_


	2. Part 1

_When she hits the mat with a grunt and strangled yelp, she wonders, not for the first time, what she’s doing here. She looks up with blurry eyes, a pounding headache and aching limbs and sees Tom and Mary off to the side, arms crossed over their chests. Mary has a worried look on her face, lips moving, words garbled and Molly struggles to read her lips, desperate to know what she’s saying. Tom’s silently pleading with her (Tom, she later finds out, is a man of few words but a man of loaded glances) to_ get up _,_ just get up, Molly. Fight back. Fight.

 

_But Molly isn’t a fighter. This life isn’t meant for people like her._

_(_ We never wanted this life for you, Molly, _her uncle’s last words repeat over and over in her head until it’s all she dreams about, until it’s all she can think of.)_

_Brown eyes and brown hair fall into her vision. She looks up and sees Janine, sweaty with exertion as she stares blankly down at Molly. “Are you done?” Janine asks her._

_Molly knows what Janine wants her to say. She knows what Mary wants her to say. She knows what Tom wants her to say. She even knows what they (those who watch from their spots behind the glass, those who pretend not to be there but are always there, lurking and watching and judging) want her to say._

No, _she can hear them in her head,_ no _,_ I’m not done. _They want to see her fight her exhaustion, they want to see her wobble on unsteady feet as she takes her stance and challenges Janine to more fighting. They want to see her strength. They want to see her determination to fight. They want her to show them that she belongs here._

_(But that’s the thing, Molly doesn’t belong here.)_

_“Yes.” She croaks and she averts her eyes from Tom’s crestfallen face and Mary’s barely noticeable frown and Janine’s disappointment. “Enough.” She’s ashamed of the tears that sting her eyes and the salty path they leave in their wake. “I can’t…I can’t…don’t make me…please. Enough.”_

_Janine nods and stands up, dusting herself off and walks out the door, letting it slam behind her._

_Molly lies down on the mat, the coolness soothing to her burning body. She watches as Mary and Tom stand around for a few more moments and tracks as their feet lead them to the door and out of the room and then she realizes she’s alone, so she concentrates on her breathing and how harsh her hitched sobs sound in the room._

_(_ We never wanted this life for you, Molly _.)_

_(Molly doesn’t belong anywhere. Not anymore.)_

 

* * *

 

It does sometimes occur to her that it is a little sad that her favorite place on earth is the morgue.

 

Then again, it also, she thinks, explains a lot about her.

 

It’s quiet here; it’s her sanctuary, just the sounds of her and her tools echoing in the empty basement. She can be alone with her thoughts here. She loves it here.

 

She rolls the body and slab into the drawer, shutting the door behind the deceased old man (he died of old age, a man who saw enough of life to die with a smile on his face) and leaning against the cold metal. It feels nice, against her warm skin and she sighs, watching her breath fog up the little space she takes up and wipes at it, erasing any sign of her momentary weakness.

 

Turning around, she walks towards the double doors, pushing them open with her shoulder and stripping off her bloodied gloves and gown, discarding them in the bin. She scrubs clean, going through the routine in her head, staring out the window, her eyes on her empty and bare morgue.

 

It’s meticulously clean. It’s hers. Her place of sanctuary.

 

As she dries herself off, she leans against the sink, hands gripping the edge and stares out the window, taking deep breath after deep breath and when her chest doesn’t hurt as much as it has in the past few days, when she feels like she can walk without tears stinging her eyes, she leaves the morgue behind, turning off the lights and making her way out of the basement of Bart’s.

 

(It’s a little sad but it says so much about her, that her favorite place is where she’s always so alone.)

 

* * *

 

_“You’re supposed to be a Hooper.” Janine says to her when Molly creeps into the room they share._

_“Janine, stop.” Mary interjects._

_“I_ am _a Hooper.” Molly tells her, already wary of this conversation. Her body still hurts from earlier in the day and she’s one blink away from drowning in her own tears and all she wants to do is sleep and wake up from this nightmare._

_“I grew up with stories about the Hooper’s. They’re worshipped here. Every person here wants to be like them. They are our examples. They left behind a legacy."_

_They led a double life, Molly knows now. A life, they blissfully kept her unaware of. A life, she didn’t even know existed until the last member of her family was killed and suddenly, she’s_ here _, trying to prove herself to people she doesn’t know. She would be lying though, if she wasn’t trying to prove herself to the three people who have come to count. The three people who were thrust upon her without care and who have somehow managed to mean something to her._

_Which is why, at Janine’s words, Molly sucks in a deep breath, because she can hear the unspoken words, she can hear what Janine doesn’t say, what Mary doesn’t say, what Tom likely won’t even let himself think about,_ you don’t belong here. You’re not one of us. You never will be.

_And that, Molly knows, is the saddest part of all, because now, she doesn’t know where she belongs. She doesn’t know who she is. Doesn’t know who her family is (was.)_

_“No.” Molly replies and she’s shocked at how hollow her voice sounds, how hoarse and tight her throat becomes as she climbs into bed, pulling the covers to her chin and turning her back to Janine and Mary. “They just left me behind.”_

 

* * *

 

She decides against the tube and walks home.

 

The weather is starting to get colder and she pulls her jacket tighter against her as she pushes her way through the crowd.

 

By the time she finally reaches her flat, her cheeks are stinging and her hands are numb as she fumbles with the keys and let’s herself in, taking the stairs one at a time. She has the key in the keyhole when she tilts her head back and sighs. It’s the sudden shift in the atmosphere; the barely noticeable creaks coming from within her flat that she knows he’s there. She’s tempted to take her key, shove it back in her pocket and walk out the front door. She doesn’t want to see him. Not now.

 

(Not ever, maybe.)

 

But her legs are aching and her back hurts and she’s so bloody tired that she tells herself she can deal with Sherlock bloody Holmes and everything that comes along with him.

 

She opens the door and closes it shut again, bolting the lock out of habit.

 

She narrows her eyes at Toby, who is sitting next to Sherlock, his tail swishing, and eyes staring up at in wonderment. _Traitor_ , she wants to say, but she can’t, because Toby took a liking to Sherlock from the first time he stayed with her.

 

(She closes her eyes at the sudden onslaught of emotion and pain that rushes through her body and suddenly she remembers nights where it was just the two of them and the semblance, the maybe beginning of something more. She remembers the way her heart swelled and then shattered simultaneously. If there was something Sherlock Holmes excelled at, it was breaking Molly Hooper’s heart.)

 

She leaves him to his mind palace as she takes off her coat and puts the kettle on, desperate for some tea.

 

She grabs her cup and goes into her sitting room, settling herself on the couch across from him. Her heart beats faster when she studies his curls and his cupid’s bow and the way his fingers, long and lean, are steepled underneath his chin and the way his pants bunch around his knees and the heady scent of his cologne and her knees become weak, so she sets the cup down before she spills on herself.

 

“Is everything alright?” She asks him hesitantly as she watches him come out of his mind palace.

 

“Charles Augustus Magnussen.” He mutters, his green-blue eyes flitting to hers. Molly feels her breath catch in her throat and she’s unsure if it’s from the intensity of his stare or from the name that makes the hair on her body stand on edge. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to. It’s something they used to do, at the beginning. He would say something, coming out of his mind palace and he and Molly would mull over it and she always, _always_ , tried her hardest to help him.

 

Her stomach sinks and she frantically runs through her head wondering if she gave away any clue. No. _No_. She was careful. _She is careful_. She keeps her face blank, void of any expression, just like she was taught all those years ago. “Haven’t heard of him.” A heartbeat goes by. “Is he…is he one of your cases?”

 

He murmurs something that she doesn’t catch, his eyes still trained on her and she sits immobilized, recognizing any movement right now to be the wrong one.

 

After a few moments, he blinks, and she watches as he retreats back into his mind palace.

 

(Sometimes, she wonders what he sees and does and who plays a prominent part in his elusive mind palace. But she doesn’t ask, mostly because she’s terrified that his answer won’t include her.)

* * *

She doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until she wakes up.

 

She’s still on the couch, but with a throw over her and in her daze she sees Tom lounging on the couch, the telly on some crime show and she vaguely hears Tom snort his incredulity. Toby is nowhere to be found.

 

She sinks back into the couch and falls asleep to the faint, but still there, heady scent of Sherlock’s cologne.

 

* * *

 

_When she hits the mat, she lets out a sharp gasp, as pain radiates through her body. She feels the burn of shame and humiliation course through her body and she looks up at Mary and Tom who are standing off to the side, Mary chewing her lip and Tom moving side to side. She cuts her gaze to Janine standing above her, hands on her hips._

_Janine sighs and casts a quick look to the mirror, where the people who pretend aren’t hovering over them, who aren’t there to judge her (them), are standing and watching this catastrophe unfold, before she bends down. “Are you done?”_

_She doesn’t look at Mary and Tom who are still staring at her with worry in their eyes and silently pleading her with to get up,_ just get up, Molly. Fight. Fight back.

 

_She doesn’t look back at the mirror; she refuses to give them any satisfaction._

_Instead, she looks at Janine who is staring at her with an expressionless face. She’s not a cruel person, Molly knows that, but there is a resentment that runs through her blood when she stares at the brunette._

_You’re supposed to be a Hooper._

_Everyone here wants to be them._

_They’re our example._

_They left behind a legacy._

_(You don’t belong here. You’re not one of us. You never will be.)_

But I have nowhere else to go, _Molly thinks desperately,_ I have no one else. Just you.

_Molly takes a deep breath, steeling herself for her next move, “no,” is all she says and then she leaps forward with a sound caught between a gasp and scream, knocking Janine backwards and sitting on her stomach, hand balled into a fist and she punches her in the nose, on her cheeks, until she hears cracks and until she’s yanked off her by thin but strong arms._

_Janine is still on the ground, holding her bloodied face, eyes staring at Molly, not with disgust, not with hurt or angry or even with fear, but instead with a glint, an emotion that’s akin to_ fucking finally _and_ it took you long enough but did you have to have a go at my face? _And all Molly can do is stare at her hands, still covered with Janine’s blood._

_Mary helps Janine sit up and the entire room is silent and Molly concentrates on the sounds of all their breaths, in and out. Huff and puff._

_“I’m not one of you.” Molly says, shrugging Tom’s arms from around her. “I’ll never be one of you.” She pauses and looks up at the mirror before glancing down at Janine and then at Mary and Tom. “_ I’m a Hooper _.”_

_With her body aching and sore, she leaves the room, letting the door slam shut behind her._

_(_ We never wanted this life for you, Molly.)

_She never wanted this life for herself, either._

 

* * *

 

The second time she wakes up, it’s when the sun is just starting to come up. She can hear the clatter in the kitchen and she gets up, stretches and makes her towards the noise.

 

Tom has his back to her as he waits for his coffee and toast.

 

“Charles Augustus Magnussen.” Molly says quietly. She can see the muscles tense in his back and he turns around to look at her, eyes desolate and he heaves a sigh. “Is he as bad as I remember him being?”

 

“Worse.” Tom answers her.

 

“Well then,” Molly says, slipping onto a seat at the kitchen table, finger tracing the pattern of the wood, “we have a bit of a problem.”

 

Tom pauses and then nods, hand going to his mobile. “I’ll call Mary and Janine.”

 

And just like that, she’s sucked back in, as if no time has passed. A hundred things run through her mind and she doesn’t know how to even function at the thought of the four of them in one room together, but, she concedes, whether she likes it or not, they are family. They share a bond that is shaky and hostile at best, but it’s their bond. It’s their unbreakable, unshakeable bond.

 

They’re the only family she ever knew for the better part of her life.

 

( _We never wanted this life for you, Molly._

 

No. But even when you leave, you never really leave, do you?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate Janine too much. 
> 
> So so sorry for the delay on this. I haven't given up on it and your love and support means the world to me. Legit. Like you don't even know.


End file.
